


Bean

by LxNaomi



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 21:58:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13579731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LxNaomi/pseuds/LxNaomi
Summary: The Death Note, shinigami, Kira... everything is the same, save for one tiny, blue-eyed detail...





	1. Prologue

_**January, 2004  
Tokyo, Japan** _

Shortly after midnight, there was a knock on the hotel suite door.

L took a deep breath.  This was it.  He was about to show his face as L for the first time.

He stepped over to the door and flipped the lock.

"It's unlocked," he said.  "Please, let yourselves in."

He took a few steps backwards and stood with his hands in his pockets as the door opened.

Five men- all members of the Japanese Police- stood in the doorway.  Their expressions turned from solemn to shocked almost immediately.

L, feeling thoroughly uncomfortable, used his toes to scratch his ankle. 

"I am L," he said simply.

The men just stared.

L scratched the back of his head.

Finally, the man appearing to be in charge lifted his police badge.

"I am Yagami of the NPA," he said.

The other men did the same.

"Uh, Matsuda."

"I'm Aizawa."

"Mogi."

"Ukita."

L groaned inwardly.  What were these people thinking?  Didn't they know that Kira only needed a face and a name to kill?  They were being so careless!  The one who called himself Yagami was speaking, but L wasn't listening.  Instead, he lifted his index finger and thumb and pointed at the group, as if holding a gun.

"Bang!"

Naturally, the men were quite taken aback by this.  A few of them protested noisily.

L remained calm as he explained.  "If I were Kira, you'd be dead, Mr. Soichiro Yagami of the NPA," he said in an annoyed tone.  "Kira needs a face and a name in order to commit murder.  But I'm sure you've already figured that much out, haven't you?  Please, do not give out your names so carelessly.  Instead, let's value our lives."

With that said, he turned toward the living room and, after instructing everyone to turn off their cell phones, he took a seat in one of the chairs, bringing his knees to his chest like always.

There was a coffee tray on the table in front of him, and L didn't say a word until his hot drink was poured and properly sugared according to his excessive standards.  Then, the meeting began.  He started by requesting that everyone call him "Ryuzaki" from now on.  


He spoke for awhile, going over his deductions and his plan for action.  Picking up a black marker, he began writing directly on the coffee table.

Just then, one of the suite's bedroom doors opened.

The Task Force was all at once in a state of complete bewilderment as a small boy, appearing no older than four or five, stepped out.  He clicked the door shut and turned to run with tiny steps over to L's chair.  He then proceeded to crawl underneath it, and then he just... stayed there.  He sat cross-legged, sticking his little face out from under the chair and looking at everyone curiously through strands of floppy, black hair that fell into his slender, electrifying blue eyes.

He was wearing patterned footie pajama pants and a hoodie with bear ears.  The ends of both hoodie strings were in his mouth and his hands were stuffed in his front pockets.

L barely skipped a beat and continued talking about the case and the FBI agents as though nothing were amiss... but he realized quickly that no one was listening.  He sighed.

"Alright," he said firmly. "I'll introduce you, but if we are going to be working together on this case, you cannot allow yourselves to be so easily distracted. Is that understood?"

The Task Force looked a little embarrassed, but they all agreed and some mumbled apologies.

"Everyone..."  L leaned forward with his hands on his knees to look down at the small face that was now peering up at him.  The little boy's mouth formed a smile around the hoodie strings he was chewing on.

"This," the detective spoke plainly, "is my son."


	2. The Thief from Moscow

**_October, 1997_ **   
**_Moscow, Russia_ **

It's strange how the turn of one corner can alter one's surroundings completely.

The man in the long, grey trench coat glanced behind him, at the city lights and noisy traffic between the two, ominously tall, stone buildings on either side of him. Turning back around, he felt as though he had stepped into another world. Darkness stretched before him and was interrupted only by the dim flicker of a few fires contained in rusty, metal barrels. His footsteps echoed on the wet stone ground, and the eyes of those less fortunate than him followed his figure as he trod deeper into the grim alleyway.

The air felt heavier, somehow, and was thick with various smells, both stale and potent. Shadows loomed tall and sinister and the sound of dripping water echoed throughout the corridor. A dog barked from somewhere nearby. The man continued on, a single folder tucked under one arm.

At the end of the alleyway was half a building, the completion of its construction abandoned long ago. An old man with a tangled, white beard sat on a filthy blanket at the entrance, his head bowed and his arms wrapped around his bent-up knees.

The well-dressed, much younger man spoke. "Excuse me."

The old beggar did not look up.

The man with the folder tried again. "Excuse me, but I wondered if you could help me... I'm looking for someone."

Again, there was no response.

The young man sighed and reached into his pocket to extract some coins.

At the clink of currency, the homeless man lifted his gaze. A jagged scar raked across his face, rendering one eye dead and useless. "And just who are you looking for?" he queried, and immediately his slight form convulsed into a fit of hacking and coughing.

"Ah, well..." the man in the trench coat opened the folder and removed a print of a grainy, black and white security camera screenshot. He held it out for the old man to see. "I'm looking for her."

The old man's one good eye settled on the face in the photograph, then lifted to look at the inquirer under a mangy, white eyebrow. Slowly, he brought his arm out from the tattered shawl around him and held out a grimy hand with long, bony fingers and yellowed fingernails.

"Oh, right." The younger man dropped the coins into the upturned palm.

The hand retreated quickly back into the rags. The old man tipped his head toward the door of the unfinished building. "She's in there."

More hacking and coughing.

The young man nodded his thanks and moved to open the heavy, industrial door.

The inside of the building instantly reminded the man of pictures from history books of refugee camps during times of war. Wall frames were erected, but there was no drywall, making it feel like one, large room with wooden posts here and there. More fire barrels were set up, and tattered furniture was scattered about. Mattresses and cots, each one dirtier than the last, filled the space from end-to-end.

The man looked at the photo and then began searching the faces around him. He moved slowly through the poorly-lit rows of sorry excuses for beds, feeling slightly claustrophobic and a little sick to his stomach.

The sound of crackling fire and the occasional deep-chested cough were the only disturbances to the eerie silence. The man wondered if it was always thus, or if his presence was what was causing the hush.

He was about to ask someone else for assistance when a female voice spoke to him.

"Nice coat."

The man looked to his left. Perched atop a rather sad-looking couch with dingy upholstery was a girl of about 20. She sat comfortably with her back against the armrest and her legs stretched out before her with her ankles crossed. She wore black leggings that had a ragged hole in the knee and worn-out combat boots. The collar of her over-sized sweater hung lopsided over her thin shoulders, and her wavy, brown hair was cut short to her ears, save for two long, wispy strands that hung down on either side of her face to her collarbone.

"I beg your pardon?" the man asked, tipping his head questioningly.

The girl didn't look up. She reached her long fingers into a small snack bag and removed them again holding a pretzel twist. "Any chance you've got some food in that fancy coat of yours?" she asked plainly.

The man looked down at the photograph, then back up at the girl. "Forgive me, but... could I see your face?"

The girl was in no hurry to oblige. She calmly sat, rubbing her index finger and thumb together, the pretzel crunching between her teeth. Then, she turned her head and her eyes met his.

"I'm not that kind of girl," she said bluntly.

The two long stands of hair framed her face becomingly. Her mouth was small, and her lips were a soft shade of rosy pink. But her most striking feature, by a long shot, was her eyes. They were sleek and slender and bluer than a tropical ocean on a sunny day. In fact, the man with the photograph wondered if he had ever seen anything so blue. The outside corners of her eyes lifted ever so slightly under long, curved eyelashes, naturally achieving a look that many in the world of beauty and fashion attempt to fabricate.

"Ah, n-no," the man stammered. "But would you come with me, please? I've been looking for you."

The girl scoffed and reached into the pretzel bag again. "And what would a fancy-pants like you want with a street rat like me?" She popped another pretzel into her mouth and gestured dramatically outward with both arms. "Trust me, there's nothing I can- or am willing- to give you. So... buh bye now." She waved a hand at him dismissively.

But the man didn't back down. "You are Anya Petrova, yes?"

He received a look of uncomfortable surprise. "What's it to you?" she asked, her voice transparently annoyed.

"Look, I represent someone who just wants to talk to you," the man spoke slowly. "You'll get a hot meal out of it, and all you need to do is listen."

Anya's cerulean eyes sparked at the mention of food. She thought for a moment, then swung her legs over the couch to stand. "Alright, sounds easy enough, I guess.  Lead the way," she said with a shrug.

The man led her out of the half-constructed building and back through the long, dreary alleyway. At last, they stepped out into the light of the city streetlamps.

Anya was then taken to a small, dimly-lit restaurant. It was the kind of place that served food, but most patrons only went for the bar. A man in a long, black dress coat sat at a table in the corner, and the man with Anya nodded toward him. She stepped forward and approached the mysterious gentleman.

"Hey," she said simply. Her arms hung down by her sides and her fingers fidgeted with the sleeve hems of her sweater.

The man in black lifted a hand toward the chair across from him. He knocked back his drink, then lifted his glass to the waiter, who nodded and left to get another.

Anya took a seat and folded her arms casually on the tabletop. "Who are you?" she asked bluntly.

The waiter came to the table before the man had a chance to answer. A full glass of a strong-smelling alcohol was placed on the table, and the aproned young lad turned to Anya. "What can I get for you?" he asked.

"Do you have stroganoff?" Anya asked, hopefully.

"We do, I'll bring it right out."

The waiter left and Anya turned to the brooding man across from her again. "Okay," she said, shrugging. "Here I am. What do you want with me?"

The man took a long drink of his liquor before answering. When he did, he spoke with a deep voice and a thick Mediterranean accent.

"I believe you will recognize my name," he said smoothly. "You have been an integral part of my homeless network on the streets of Moscow for a few years now."

Instantly, Anya knew who he was, but the man introduced himself anyway.

"Eraldo Coil," he said, extending a hand toward her. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Petrova."

Anya accepted the handshake. "You too," she said. "So... why are you here?"

The waiter arrived with a steaming plate of beef and potato stroganoff. Anya wasted no time digging in. The hot food burned her tongue, but she didn't care. It had been a long time since she'd had a proper meal, and it could very well be a long time before she got another one.

Detective Coil leaned forward with his elbows on the table. "I am here," he said, his voice rich like chocolate, "because I need a thief...a con-girl. And I need the best."

Anya looked up from her plate, her mouth full of meat and potatoes. She used her fork to catch some gravy on her bottom lip. "Keep talking," she said with her mouth full.

The man with the olive skin and black hair continued. "I need... a name," he said slowly.

"A name?" Anya swiped the back of her hand over her mouth before taking another bite.

Eraldo Coil nodded. "Yes. I need the name of the man who ruined me... the man who stole my identity and my life. And I need _you_ to get it for me."

"And if I do?" Anya asked around gravy and potato. "What do _I_ get?"

"An apartment. A job. A _life_."  His words dripped with honey.

Anya paused, her fork halfway to her mouth.

Eraldo Coil spoke directly, never breaking contact with the Russian street girl's icy, blue eyes. "I am prepared to offer you a simple life of comfort and dignity. An apartment here in Moscow has already been procured, and there is a position being held for you at a clothing shop with good wages. Not to mention, there will be a decent sum of money to get you started with a new wardrobe and food to last you until you can pay for your own way. Get me this name... and all of it is yours."

Anya stared as though someone were offering her the moon. "And, uhh..." she spoke hesitantly. "W-what name do I have to get?"

The undone detective leaned in even closer. Fire sparked in his nearly black eyes and he hissed his words with venom.

"Get me the name of the detective known as _L."  
_


	3. The Detective from London

_**January, 1998** _  
_**London, England** _

It was raining.

Not an angry, stormy downpour or a soft spring shower, but a grey, dreary drizzle. Thunder rumbled lazily in the distance like a grizzly bear rolling over in its sleep.

It was a fitting atmosphere, the young detective thought to himself. It wouldn't have been appropriate for the sun to be shining.

Not now.

Not today.

L stood at the window with his hands in his jeans pockets and his back hunched over a little more than usual. He stared at the raindrops on the window, trailing like a steady stream of tears down the clouded glass.

This was a hurt he never knew existed.

Never in his eighteen years of life had he known pain this real... this _raw._ He hated himself for letting his guard down. For letting himself fall for her...

How could he have been so stupid?

She had gotten to him... and now, he couldn't take it back.

_Anya._

The brilliant, sassy girl with the wispy, chestnut hair and the intoxicating blue eyes who had won over the quirky, introverted insomniac infamously known as the World's Greatest Detective.

He hadn't let her know his true identity, and so she had come to know him as Private Detective Cayde Bennett from London. Her intelligence and quick wit had intrigued him from the start, when she had stepped in to assist him with a case. Over the past several months, they had spent hours together, challenging each other's deductive skills and debating one topic or another. She was fascinating to him, and she had seemed to like him too.

And then...

L closed his eyes tightly as he regretfully remembered that night... The night he had given in. He felt so, so stupid. She had won him over. She had made herself irresistible to him. He had been with her in a way he'd never been with anyone... and no one, not even Watari, knew.

It was a night he'd never forget... but one that now, he sincerely wished he could.

Because now, the computer screen blatantly and mercilessly displayed evidence that she had known all along. She knew he was L, and she had been hired to discover his name by a man who had been beaten in the Detective Wars.  The case she had stepped in on?  Fabricated.  Set up.  None of what he'd come to love was real... None of it.

Another rumble of thunder rolled in the distance as a small knock sounded on the door.

"It's open," L said plainly.

The door opened, and Anya stepped inside the little room.

L wanted to scream. But he didn't.  He just stood silently at the window and continued looking out.

"You wanted to see me?" she said softly.

Without a word, L turned on his bare heel and walked toward the desk. With one swift motion, he turned the monitor so she could see what was on the screen... So she could know that he knew.

He watched her face as she took in the information. He watched as her smile disappeared and panic took over. And he didn't look away as her electrifying blue eyes lifted to meet his shadowed grey ones.

She swallowed hard. "I knew you'd find out..." she whispered, her voice trembling. She dropped her gaze and looked down at her hands.

L's sleep-deprived eyes didn't leave her. They were locked bitterly on her face. His expression was cold and terrifying.

Anya looked up at him again, her cobalt eyes shining with tears. "You have no reason to believe me..." A little sob caught in her throat, and she swallowed again before continuing. "But what I felt for you was real. Those things I said... I meant them." She tried to go on but couldn't. She dropped her head again and cried softly.

More than anything in the world, L wanted to take her to him. To tell her that he believed her and that it didn't matter.

But it did matter.

Without breaking eye contact, L pressed a button on the intercom on the desk.

"Watari, send them in."

The door opened again, and several policemen filed in. One of them took Anya's wrists and cuffed them.

She didn't struggle.

He was Justice, and she knew that. She had known it was only a matter of time.

She stood with her head down and her hands behind her back. A policeman gently held her arm.

"Anya Petrova," the officer spoke.  "You are under arrest for crimes of theft in the city of Moscow."

Anya expected him to continue, but he didn't.

 _"Wait... that's it?"_ her mind whirled.  She looked up at L... at Detective Bennett.

And his eyes told her all that she needed to know.

He was having her arrested for her petty crimes, but nothing more.  He knew an arrest based on treason would result in a sentence of life in a high-level security prison... or worse.  But this way, she'd serve a few years and then be released to live her life.

It was his parting nod to what they'd shared together; to what she had meant to him.

L remained motionless as they began to take her away.

"Wait," she pleaded softly.

They stopped, and she turned to look at him one more time. Tears lined her face, and her eyes spoke volumes more than her words ever could.

She did love him. Surely, she hadn't planned to. But she did, and that's why she didn't even try to fight. She knew she deserved this and had already resolved within herself to go quietly when the time came.

But she had to look at him one more time.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

L's expression remained rigid and deceitfully unfeeling. He spoke clearly and strongly, "Goodbye, Anya Petrova."

Then he turned his back to her, and they took her away.


	4. The Boy with the Bright Blue Eyes

**_April, 2002_ **  
**_Los Angeles, California, USA_ **

With a feeling of triumph that never grew old, L plunked his index finger down onto the laptop keyboard, ending the one-way video call with the FBI.

Another case, solved and closed.

He swiveled around in the computer chair and stood to his bare feet, his hands immediately moving to the pockets of his blue jeans.  A lollipop was tucked in one cheek.

He sauntered over to the couch and hopped up onto it, crouching with his knees to his chest like a bullfrog.

On the coffee table before him sat a silver tray, and on it was a delicate china tea set.  L reached with his long arms and poured himself a cup of English Breakfast, adding a large handful of sugar cubes to the dainty cup.  He pulled the lollipop from his mouth and, holding the stick pinched between his index finger and thumb,  he noisily stirred the tea with it.  Then he set it on the saucer and lifted the cup to take a sip.

"Mm." He licked his pale lips.

Turning his head, he looked out one of the hotel suite's large, floor-to-ceiling windows.  The sun was just beginning to set.

 _"Forty-six hours,"_ L noted mentally to himself.  It had been that long since he had slept.

But there was nothing atypical about that.  In fact, he could very well be awake for another forty-six, and it would still be considered normal for the chronic insomniac. 

A beeping sound emitting from the laptop turned his head back toward the desk.  There was a message flashing on the screen.

L tipped his head and knocked back his cup of tea in one gulp. He sat like this for a moment, letting the grainy, syrup-like drops fall onto his tongue from the teacup dangling between his fingers.  Then, he stood again, picking up the lollipop and returning it to the little pocket between his teeth and cheek.

Without bothering to sit down, he leaned forward and moved the mouse to click on the blinking message.

It was an alert from one of his informants in the UK.

L never liked information from his informants to be relayed via text message or email, and so he simply had them send an alert, and he would call them when he got it.

Biting the last of the lollipop candy from the end of the stick, L reached into his pocket and extracted his phone, which was already set up with voice distortion.  He dialed and held the phone up to his ear using only his first finger and thumb.  He chewed the hard candy loudly between his back teeth while it rang.

The informant picked up.  "Hello?"

"This is L."  The detective's long fingers carelessly flicked the lollipop stick toward a trash can.  It missed its mark by a longshot and landed in the middle of the carpet.

"Oh, hello," the informant greeted.  "Uh... yes, you asked me to keep track of the Russian girl, Anya Petrova?"

_Anya._

L hadn't thought about her in a long, long time.  He looked down at his toes and traced them back and forth in an arc on the carpet."Yes?" he prodded the man on the other end of the line to continue.

"Well, I just thought you'd want to know... she died yesterday." 

An odd little pain sparked in L's chest.  "Oh," he said simply.  He shoved his hand into his pocket.  "How?"

"She had an immune disorder," the informant replied.  "It had been lying dormant for years, I suppose, but it struck about a month ago and progressed very quickly."

There was no tone of sympathy in the man's voice.  He was merely relaying facts.  After all, he had no reason to believe that Anya was ever anything more to L than a person of interest related to a case.

L stared at the wooden desktop.  He knew she had served a 12 month sentence in prison for her crimes of theft and had been thereafter released on parole.  Other than that, though, he hadn't heard anything about her since the night they'd arrested her.

He cleared his throat.  "Well, that's too bad... But thank you for letting me know.  Is there anything else?"

"No, I don't think so..." the man said slowly.  "Oh, except I did hear that her son will be placed into the foster care system."

L looked up.  "Her son?  I didn't realize she'd had one."

"Yes, she had a three year old son."

L suddenly felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach.

_Three years old..._

"Uh..." L lifted his index finger to scratch the side of his head.  "Could you... send over any files you have on the boy?"

"Yes, I can do that immediately, actually.  I have them all saved with my files on Miss Petrova."

"That's good, please do that."  L cleared his throat again and swallowed.  It felt so dry all of a sudden.  "Was there anything else?"

"No, that's it."

"Alright, thank you very much.  Goodbye."

L stared intently at the computer screen as he snapped the phone shut and returned it to his pocket.  His eyes remained fixed on the monitor as he fumbled outward with one arm and grabbed ahold of the back of the computer chair.  He slid it over to him and stepped up to sit in it, hunched over and with his knees brought up to his chest.

_Three years old..._

L wrapped his arm around his bent up knees and brought his thumb to his mouth.  He began chewing on the end of it, his wide, grey eyes never leaving the computer screen as he waited.

Anya had probably met someone.  That was probably it. 

Except... she had been in a women's prison for a year...

L hugged his knees to himself even tighter.

It was only a moment before a notification alerted L that he had a new email. 

L felt as though his heart was going to pound right through his white, cotton shirt, though his calm demeanor gave away nothing of the sort.  He simply reached out to click on the email, the other thumb still clamped between his teeth.

The email contained a file.

The file on Anya Petrova's son.

L paused for a moment, realizing that what he was about to read could possibly change his life forever.  Slowly, he brought his hand down from his mouth and rested it on top of his knee.

He took a long, slow breath.  Then with two simple clicks, the file opened.

And upon reading the first line of the page, L knew.

The last name of Anya's three year old son was the masculine form of his mother's, but his first name was what gave everything away.

 _ **Bennett Alexei Petrov**_  
_Born September 28, 1998_  
Moscow Women's Correctional Facility  
Mother: Anya Sashenka Petrova  
Father: Unknown

L used both hands to push away from the desk and swiveled to stand to his feet.  He jammed both hands into his pockets and took a few hasty steps to the middle of the room.  Then he just stopped and stood there, staring at the floor.

His chest rose and fell in deep, jagged breaths and his shoulders trembled.  Like he was cold, only he wasn't.

Bringing a thumbnail to his teeth, he turned to look again toward the computer screen.

_Bennett._

L chewed on his thumbnail, frozen in place and staring at the open file on the monitor.  He stayed like this for a little while.  Then slowly, he moved back to the desk and climbed up into the chair again to continue reading.

Bennett Alexei Petrov, currently aged 3 years and 6 months, was to be placed in foster care immediately, as his mother and only guardian had no known living relatives at the time of her death.

L read through the legal jargon and then moved on to some medical forms.  The boy, although recorded as small for his age, appeared to be healthy, with no trace of the genetic disorder that had taken the life of his mother. 

One particular section of the file detailed a psychological evaluation in which a pediatrician noted that Bennett displayed several characteristics that fell within the autistic spectrum.   Most of these characteristics were sensory related: a nervous tick in his left hand, heightened sensitivity to sudden movements or stimuli such as flashing lights, and the constant need to be chewing on something.

L slowly and self-consciously lowered his thumb from his mouth.

The evaluation recommended that Bennett always wear something likened to a hoodie to limit his peripheral vision and manage his need to feel secure and closed-in.

The intelligence section of the evaluation detailed Bennett's impressive problem-solving skills.  He tested incredibly high in several cognitive areas and fell within the IQ spectrum of children twice his age.

"Huh." L surprised himself, realizing that he had just chuckled a bit.

At the bottom of the page was a personality profile, under which Bennett was described as "A well-behaved, content child.  Quiet but friendly.  Alert and incredibly aware of the small details in his surroundings.  Loves music."

L finished reading. 

And then he read it all again.

The date fit.

Major areas of his psychology fit.

His given name certainly fit.

_Is this really...?_

And then L noticed that there was also a photo attached to the email.

Lifting his thumb to his mouth again, he slid the mouse across the desktop and clicked on the JPEG attachment.

The photo opened and L's eyes widened.  Whatever doubt that remained vanished completely as he looked into the small face of Bennett Petrov for the first time.

This little boy was his, no question. 

The thick, floppy, jet-black hair, the skin the color of the pale winter moon, the thin shoulders, the long fingers... Everything was a tiny mirror image of L, save for one striking feature: a slender pair of cobalt blue eyes.


	5. The Detective's Son

When Watari returned from his errands, he found L sitting on the couch hugging his legs to his chest and resting his forehead on his knees.

"Are you alright?" the old man asked.

L didn't answer.

"L?  Are you sick?"

"No."  L's answer was muffled in the denim fabric of his blue jeans.

Watari could sense something was wrong, but he didn't pry.  He removed his long coat and hung it up on a wall peg.

As he was turning to make his way into the kitchen, though, he heard L's voice again.

"Watari?"

"Yes?"

Slowly, L lifted his head and stepped off of the couch.  He pocketed one hand, and the other held a few stapled sheets of paper. With his head down and his shoulders slumped over, he shuffled over to where Watari was standing.  Then he just stood there, seemingly unable to lift his gaze to meet the old man's eyes.

"What is it, L?" 

Without looking up, L lifted the papers, holding them by their stapled corner between his index finger and thumb.

Watari took the papers and looked over the top page.

"Is this a new case?" he asked.

"No."

"Then, what-"

"Do you remember Anya Petrova?" L asked abruptly.

"The... Russian girl.  Yes."

L swallowed.  He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck.

Watari was trying to be patient with L's cryptic behavior.  Finally, he just stepped forward and placed a hand on the thin shoulder of the troubled, young detective.

"L?"

Bringing his thumb to his teeth, L looked up into the eyes of the only father he'd ever known.

Watari raised his white eyebrows and spoke softly.  "What's wrong?"

The kindly old man had seen a lot in the shadowed eyes of L Lawliet over the years.  Determination.  Passion.  Bitterness.  Exhaustion.  But this was something he hadn't seen in many, many years... This was fear.

L lowered his gaze again to the papers that Watari still held.  He gestured toward them.  "Last page," he mumbled.

"Alright."  Watari removed his hand from L's shoulder to comply.  He flipped to the last page and looked down at a photo of a child who looked awfully familiar, though not exactly.

Watari looked up questioningly.

L stared down into nothingness as he gnawed on the thumb tucked between his back molars. 

"L, who is this?" Watari asked.

L's gaunt shoulders lifted as he shoved his hand even deeper into his pocket.  He didn't look up.

"He's mine," he said quietly.

Watari's eyes widened, though the extent of his shock was not expressed outwardly.  He just looked at L, processing what he'd just been told.  At length, he cleared his throat and spoke calmly.

"Did you know?"

L shook his head.

"You've only just found out today?"

L nodded.

Watari looked back down at the page he still held and the printed photo on it.  It was hard to argue the truth value of L's claim.  This little boy looked exactly like him... except for those svelte, royal blue eyes.

Watari cleared his throat again.  "Did, ah... did she contact you somehow?"

L lowered his hand from his mouth and returned it to his pocket.  "She died," he replied plainly. "Yesterday morning."  He stood with his back arched and his head down.  A heaviness had settled in his chest and stomach, and a dull throb pulsed beneath his plain, white shirt.

Watari sighed.  Wordlessly, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his boy.  L stiffened only for a moment, and then dropped his forehead despondently onto Watari's shoulder.  His hands remained in his pockets.

"I'm sorry," Watari spoke gently.

L shut his eyes tightly, still working through it all in his mind.  "I have a son, Wammy," he mumbled into the old man's suit jacket.

Watari's right hand moved to the back of L's head.

They stayed like that for a moment longer.

Then L stepped back to look at Watari.  His expression had never looked so lost.

But Watari smiled at him.  "Well, L," he said, taking a deep breath, "...congratulations."

L lifted an index finger to scratch behind his ear.

"He's a handsome boy," Watari commented.

L looked down at the photo Watari was holding.  His index finger stayed behind his ear, listlessly moving up and down.  "His name's Bennett," he said quietly.

"Bennett..." Watari repeated.  "Ah, as in Detective Cayde Bennett."  He was reading through the file now.

L nodded.  Then he said softly, "He's like me, Watari."

"What?"  Watari looked up.

"He's like me."  L fidgeted in the carpet with his toes.  "...kind of."

Watari lifted the first page and read through the psychological evaluation.  He began to chuckle a little.  "Yes, a lot of this does sound familiar," he noted.

"So... What do I do?" L asked.  "How do I get him?"

Watari's head came up quickly.  "Get him?"

L kept staring at his toes in the carpet.  "Yes, how do we do that? You've done all of this legal stuff before."

Watari wasn't quite sure how to respond to that.  "Uh... why don't we sit down?" he suggested.

They moved to the couch and L stepped backwards onto it, assuming his hunched over frog stance.  Watari took a seat next to him.

"L..." he began slowly.  "Are you aware of the responsibility you are looking at here?"

L just stared blankly at the coffee table with his arms folded over his knees and his chin atop them.

Watari continued, choosing his words carefully.  "You have to think of this little boy... of Bennett.  Think of your lifestyle.  Is that best for him?"

"I never knew my parents," L responded simply.  He arched his shoulders and hugged his knees a little tighter.  "I would like to know my son."

The old man found it quite difficult to argue with that.  But he proceeded gently.  "But L, are you ready for something this monumental?  Are you ready to be... _a parent?"_

"No," L answered honestly.  Then he looked at Watari.  "Will you help me?"

Watari looked at L for a long time.  Then he sighed.  "If you really want to do this, of course I will.  But may I strongly advise that you take a few days to think it over?  This is still... quite a shock."

L nodded.  "Okay."

But a few days came and went, and L did not change his mind.  He was determined, albeit terrified with no idea of what to expect.

Watari and L talked for hours, longer than they ever had in such a short span of time.  They worked through the legal aspect of everything, and Watari gave L all the preliminary fatherly advice he could think of.

Because of Watari's influence in the world of adoption and orphanages, the process moved along rather quickly, and only a matter of weeks later, Quillish Wammy was listed in the public records as Bennett Petrov's legal guardian. 

Within his own records, however, Watari handed over full custody to L, and the boy's name officially became Bennett Alexei Petrov-Lawliet.  These files were tucked away with all of L's own legal documents.

At long last, everything was in order, and L found himself standing in the middle of a large hotel suite in Moscow.  Watari had just called to inform him that he was on his way up with the boy.

L stood as he always did.  His back was curved and his knees slightly bent.  The toes of one bare foot played with the hem of his blue jeans, and his hands were stuffed in his pockets.

He heard footsteps and Watari's voice. 

Then the lock on the door whirred and clicked, and the door opened.


	6. The Object of the Game

L stood facing the door, feeling like his heart was going to pound out of his chest.

Watari stepped inside, carrying a large suitcase. He smiled encouragingly at L and then looked downward behind him and gestured lightly in a forward motion.

L's wide, shadowed eyes moved down and over to the left of Watari's legs where a small figure stepped into the room. The three year old was wearing jeans and little sneakers and a striped t-shirt with a dark green, zip-up hoodie. The hood was up, and his thick, black bangs stuck out from underneath it. He was wearing a small backpack and both of his hands held the straps. The end of a hoodie string hung from one corner of his mouth.

He stepped up next to Watari. Then he lifted his head and looked straight at L.

And for the first time in his life, L's heart skipped a beat.

The resemblance was even stronger in person. Anyone with the gift of sight could see that this child was his flesh and blood.

But those eyes...

They were _hers._

L drummed his fingers on his thighs from inside his pockets.

"Hello," he said simply. He spoke in English, knowing that Bennett spoke both English and Russian.

Bennett looked up at Watari who offered him a smile and a nod in L's direction. Then, adjusting his little backpack, he looked downward and took a few steps to stand before the very tall man in the jeans and white t-shirt. He stopped in front of L and lifted his gaze.

L stared down at his mini-me. Then, he lowered himself to the ground with his legs bent up to his chest and his hands on his knees. Even still, he was not quite at eye-level with his small son.

L lifted a thumb to his teeth and tipped his head.

Bennett chewed on the plastic end of the drawstring.

The two just looked at each other curiously.

Finally, L returned his hand to rest atop his knees.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked plainly.

Bennett nodded. His left hand twitched twice, and he moved it to his hoodie pocket.

L looked to Watari for support, then back at his son.

"So, you know that I'm... I'm your..."

"Papa," Bennett finished.

L stared back at the little boy. He had used the Russian title for "Dad." Not the formal "Otets" for "Father," but the informal, more affectionate, "Papa."

Slowly, L nodded. He extended his hand toward the boy who now had both hoodie strings trailing from his mouth to his collar.

"It's very nice to meet you, Bennett," he said.

L's son extended a childish hand. His fingers were long and slender. He took his Papa's hand and they shook, maintaining eye contact.

"Mama called me 'Bean,'" Bennett said quietly.

L had already planned on coming up with an alias for his son. He supposed that "Bean" would suffice.

"Alright," L said, letting go and placing his hand atop his knee again. Then he stood to his bare feet. Bean's eyes followed as L towered over him.

Watari stepped back out of the room and began to close the door.

"Where are you going?" L asked, a hint of panic in his voice.

The old man smiled, more with his eyes than with his mouth. "I'll be back later," he said.

L's eyes pleaded with Watari to stay.

"You'll be fine," Watari assured him. And he shut the door.

L stared at the closed door, his elbows bent and his hands in his pockets. Then he looked down at the upturned, little face beside him.

"Um..." L lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. "Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Okay, um... Well, here," L reached out and hooked his index finger under the loop on top of the red and blue backpack.

Bean pulled his arms out of the straps, and his hands immediately returned to his front pockets.

L set the backpack on a chair. He turned around and saw that Bean had already made his way into the living room. L shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and just watched him, still marveling to himself that this little boy was his.

Bean looked especially small as he stood in the middle of the grand hotel suite with his hands in his hoodie pockets. The strings in his mouth moved ever so slightly as he chewed on the ends of them. His elongated, blue eyes traveled all over the architecture of the big room, from the fancy, plush furniture, up to the ornate carvings on the ceiling, and back down along the wall over the desk containing multiple computer monitors and wires. His gaze laid to rest on a chess board set up on a small table against a wall. He moved over to it and picked up a piece. Turning it over in his long fingers, he studied it closely.

"That's a knight," L said.

Bean looked at him, and then back to the wooden chess piece in his hand. His top teeth moved back and forth over his bottom lip and played with the strings in his mouth. Then, with his other hand, he picked up another piece and held it out toward L with a questioning look.

"That's the queen."

The knight returned to the board and the king was plucked up from his square.

"Is this the king?" Bean asked in a small voice.

"Yes. The object of the game is to protect him."

"Does the knight protect him too?"

"All of the pieces protect him." L moved over and hopped into one of the table's two chairs. "Sit down, I'll show you."

Without hesitation, Bean climbed up into the other chair. He sat up on his knees and leaned forward with his forearms on the table. He stared at the chess board, eagerly nibbling on the ends of his drawstrings.

"Alright," L began. "As I said before, the object of the game is to protect your king. He is your most valuable piece."

Bean leaned forward to tap the cross atop L's king. "This one," he said.

"Yes, that's my king. This..." L reached over to tap the king on the opposite side of the board. "...is yours."

Bean looked down at his king and then back up at L's. He nodded, his black hair bouncing up and down under his fleece hood.

L went on to explain the rest of the pieces. Bean was thoroughly intrigued, and L noted with a tiny spark of pride that his memory and rate of learning were impressive. His strategic skills were limited, of course, by his young age, but he didn't have to be told anything twice regarding the names or the movements of the pieces.

And something happened to L as he sat there, watching his son move the figures around the board with hands childishly identical to his own. Every single priority he held promptly moved down a notch. Every area of his life that held value was immediately de-ranked. The most valuable piece on his board all at once sat across from him in the form of quirky little Bennett Alexei.

And it was then and there that L made a solemn vow within himself to protect the small Bean as long as he lived.


	7. The Envelope

Watari returned to find L and Bean on the couch. L sat as he normally did with his feet and knees brought up to himself, and Bean sat with his legs straight out in front of him, as they were too small to bend over the edge of the cushion. L held a teacup and saucer and Bean held a glass of milk in both hands. The two of them looked up when Watari entered.

"Hello," the old man greeted warmly as he removed his coat. "Did you have a nice afternoon?"

"We played chess," Bean quipped.

Watari smiled. "Oh, that sounds very nice. I love chess."

"Yes," L said, looking at the little figure beside him and delicately holding his teacup and saucer. "He picked it up surprisingly quickly."

"Surprisingly?" Watari asked, chuckling. "He is your son, L."

L didn't respond. He couldn't seem to stop watching little Bean, who was finishing off his glass of milk.

Bean tipped his head way back, holding the glass with both hands. Then he lowered it to his lap, his little tongue swiping across the milk mustache on his upper lip.

Something likened to a smile lifted one corner of L's mouth. He reached over to the tray on the coffee table and picked up a napkin.

"Look at me," he said. Bean did, and L gently dabbed at the milky face. Then he took the glass and set it and the napkin down on the coffee table before stepping off the couch and shoving his hands into his pockets. Bean shimmied off the couch too, and lifted a drawstring to his mouth before pocketing his own little hands in his hoodie.

"Did he eat anything?" Watari asked.

L shook his head. "No."

Watari looked at Bean and smiled warmly. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

Bean bobbed his head up and down, his hair flopping under his dark green hood.

"Okay, go sit in the kitchen and I'll make lunch," Watari told him.

Bean looked up at L.

"Papa too?"

Before L could answer, Watari said kindly, "Your papa has some important things to do, but he'll still be here when you're done."

Bean seemed satisfied with that answer and moved with quick and tiny steps toward the kitchen.

Watari stepped up to L and his eyes creased into a proud smile. "How are you doing?" he asked in a fatherly tone.

L shrugged, his eyes never leaving his small son, who was climbing up to sit at the kitchen table. "He seems like a good kid," he said.

"He does," Watari agreed. "She did a good job, didn't she?"

At the mention of Anya, L's eyes moved to meet Watari's. He didn't reply.

With a sigh, Watari reached into his jacket and pulled out a long, thick envelope and held it out to L. "She wrote this," he said gently. "It was to go to Bennett's foster family."

L looked down at the envelope and then back up at Watari. Slowly, his hand came out of its pocket, and he accepted the letter.

Watari pressed a hand encouragingly to L's arm before turning and heading toward the kitchen.

L stood for a few moments, watching as Bean sat patiently, waiting for his lunch and making small talk with Watari. Then he turned to climb back up on the couch and opened the envelope.

Inside was a hand-written letter and a smaller envelope stuffed with photos. L opened the letter first. Bringing a thumbnail to his teeth, he began to read.

 

_To Bennett's New Family,_

_My name is Anya. I don't have much time, but I want you to know a little about my sweet Bean._

_He is a good boy, but he requires a few little things to make life a little easier for him._

_You've probably noticed that he wears a hood all the time. This is because his peripheral vision provides a little bit too much sensory input for him to handle, and shrinking his field of vision helps him stay focused._

_He likes to chew on the drawstrings too- and that's okay! Please let him do this. His little left hand ticks pretty badly sometimes, and having something in his mouth helps manage that._

_Also, if he begins to show signs of anxiety, put on some music. He loves it, and it usually calms him down._

_Bennett loves puzzles and stories. You'll find that he asks lots of questions- my Bean loves to learn! He likes to be challenged. Play games with him! Teach him new things._

_But above all, please love my little boy. He is the only thing in this world that I will regret leaving behind. Please remind him often that his Mama loved him._

_Whoever you are, I hope and pray that my Bennett brings you the joy that he has brought me._

_-Anya_

_P.S.- Enclosed are some photos. Please keep them safe, and let Bennett look at them often._

 

L finished reading. That strange ache was in his chest again.

He set the letter down and opened the envelope of photos, each of which had been carefully pasted onto a colored square of paper and captioned by hand.

The first photo was a grainy, black and white sonogram photo of Bennett's tiny profile. Underneath it was written, _Can't wait to meet you!_

L stared at the little unborn face. Even then, he could see it... that was _his_ jawline, _his_ nose. This was all so surreal.

He moved on to the next photo. It was of a very pregnant Anya in a hospital gown giving a perky two-thumbs-up to the camera. The caption read, _You're almost here!!_

And the next photo showed Anya, sitting cross-legged on a hospital cot and holding a tiny bundle up face-to-face before her. The smile on her face was radiant as her shining blue eyes looked at the sleeping newborn with the full head of thick, black hair.

One by one, L flipped slowly through the photos and watched his son grow up.

Finally, he reached the very last picture, and this one he looked at for a long time.

This one was very recent. It was clear that Anya's health had deteriorated, nevertheless, her smile was broad and genuine. She was kneeling down with one arm outstretched, holding the camera. Her other arm was wrapped around Bean, pulling him in close to her, and both of his hands held hers on his tummy. Their cheeks were pressed together and Bennett, with his little hood up, was grinning around the drawstrings in his teeth. The caption read, _I love you, sweet Bean! Be good. -Mama_

L had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach as he returned the photos and the letter to the larger envelope. He stood to his bare feet and looked into the kitchen with one hand pocketed.

Watari and Bean sat across from one another at the little round table. The old man appeared to be telling a story. Bean pointed a sticky, peanut buttery finger and said something around the bite of sandwich in his mouth that L didn't quite catch, but he heard Watari chuckle. It seemed as though those two would be getting along just fine.

L looked down at the envelope in his hand.  He swallowed hard.

Of course he wasn't ready to be a father. 

But the young street girl from Moscow hadn't been ready to be a mother.  She had done her best, and nothing less.  Surely, L could do the same... for their son.

He tightened his grip on the envelope, as if doing so would somehow send a final message.

"You did well, Anya," he said quietly.  "I'll take it from here."


	8. The Flood

It was a quiet evening in the big hotel suite.  A wall clock ticked steadily and every now and then, the soft click-clacking of a computer keyboard came from the desk where L sat hunched in his swivel chair.

Bean played quietly on the floor nearby, absorbed in a 500-piece puzzle that claimed to be suitable for children ages 8 and up.

Watari stopped in the doorway for a moment as he entered the room from the kitchen.  He smiled as he took in the scene before him.

These two were very nearly a copy and paste of one another.  A wave of nostalgia reminded the old man of days that didn't really seem all that long ago, when another messy-haired little boy played contentedly by himself with puzzles that were incredibly advanced for his young age.

It had been nearly two weeks since Bean had come to live with them.  He was a good boy, and he had adjusted surprisingly quickly.  He was happy to simply be in the room with L and was not especially needy when it came to attention.  As long as he had something to occupy his brilliant little mind, he was content.

Even still, it was a big adjustment for L.  He wasn't used to taking breaks throughout his day in order to spend time with someone, let alone a three-year-old child.  Things like holding Bean's hand or goodnight hugs were very foreign to L.  But it was clear that the small boy had already come to mean a great deal to the reclusive detective, and Watari couldn't help but feel proud of him.  He was trying, and he was managing extremely well.

All seemed right in their little world.

Clearing his throat, Watari stepped forward. 

"Bean, come along now," he said kindly.  "It's time for bed."

Bean stood to his feet, one drawstring trailing down from his mouth to his hoodie.  He looked over toward L and hesitated, then looked directly at Watari.

"No," his small voice said simply.

L furrowed his brow and turned to look at the small Bean.

Watari raised his white eyebrows.

"Bean," he said carefully.  "You know the rules.  It's time for bed, now come along."

Bean tipped his head and stuffed his small hands into his hoodie pockets.

"No," he said again.

Watari looked toward L who was staring at the unusually defiant child with a completely baffled expression.  The old man sighed and tried one more time.

"That's enough, Bean," he said firmly.  "No more nonsense, now.  Come on."

Bean looked down at his feet.  The string hanging from his mouth moved slightly as he chewed on the end of it.  Then, ignoring Watari, he just sat down and continued with the puzzle.

Watari turned and moved to stand beside the desk.

L looked up at him through wide, grey eyes.

"Well," Watari sighed.  "We knew this would happen eventually."

L chewed on the end of his thumb as he looked over at the little Bean who was playing quietly again.  "Just... give him a few more minutes," he said slowly. 

But Watari shook his head.  "He's testing us, L.  Children do this, it's normal.  But you're his father and he needs to see you as such.  This is part of being a parent. Now go on."

L looked at Watari again and hesitated.  Then, with a  sigh, he stood to his bare feet and shuffled over to Bean.   He crouched down on the floor with his hands on his knees.

"Bean... look at me."

The small boy just continued playing with the colorful wooden pieces.

Firmly, L repeated, "Look at me."

Innocently, Bean looked up.

L pointed toward Watari.  "You need to go to bed," he ordered.

Bean scowled. "No."

L looked back at Watari who nodded encouragingly.  Then he turned back to his son.

 _"Bennett,"_ he said, his voiced raised a little.   "Go to bed. _Now."_

Suddenly, Bean grabbed a handful of puzzle pieces.  He hurled them at L and yelled, _"No!!"_

L clenched his jaw as the puzzle pieces hit him in the face.  He sighed.  "Okay..." he muttered.  He stood to his feet, sending Bean into a cowering little tantrum.  In one smooth motion, L bent to wrap his arm around Bean's squirming middle and picked him up to carry him under his arm.

Bean kicked and howled, grabbing handfuls of L's white shirt and trying to wriggle free.

With his eyelids lowered in aggravation, L turned and walked toward Bean's bedroom.  He shot Watari a sideways glance as he passed him, and the old man offered him a small, reassuring smile.

L carried Bean into the room and shut the door, depositing the crying child onto the bed.

Instantly, Bean shimmied off the bed and ran toward the door.  He didn't make it far before he was picked up by the back of his hoodie and placed right back on the bed.  He rolled off again and ran the other way, but ended up being set firmly back on the mattress once more.

This carried on for several minutes.

Finally, Bean outthrust both hands and ran with full force toward L, screaming at the top of his lungs.

L just placed his hand on the angry little boy's head and held him away at arm's length.  He watched bewilderingly with wide, shadowed eyes as the tiny ball of rage yelled and swung blindly with his little arms.

At last, L knelt down, avoiding a small-fisted punch to the face, and took his son firmly by the shoulders.

Bean was crying so hard, he had the hiccups.  Big tears rolled down his wet face from his red and puffy blue eyes and his slight frame tremored with sobs.  He was saying something that L couldn't quite understand.

L shook his head, staring helplessly at the distraught child.  "Bean!  Bean, what's wrong?"

Bean was saying something over and over that was completely inaudible through the blubbering tears.

L slid his hands from Bean's shoulders to his upper arms and tightened his grip.  "Bennett!  Why don't you want to go to bed?"

And then Bean looked directly at L and spoke in Russian between convulsing sobs.

"...y-... ya... khochu... Mama..."

L just stared with parted lips as he finally realized what Bean was saying.

_I want Mama._

And it was then that it wholly occurred to him, like a flood of total, blatant awareness.

Bennett was three years old, and the most important person in his life had already been ripped away from him.

With an instinct he never knew he had, L gathered his little boy into his arms and pulled him close, placing one hand over the back of Bean's wild, black hair.  He held him there, letting him cry, until the uncontrollable sobs slowed to a sniffling whimper. 

"I'm sorry, Bean," L said softly.  He gently pulled away and looked into the red, splotchy face.

Bean lifted a childish hand and rubbed at his teary, puffy eyes.  "I went to bed and then Mama was gone," he said in a small, shaky voice. 

L then remembered that Anya had died in the early morning hours, while Bean would have still been sleeping.  It was beginning to make sense now. 

"And you're afraid that if you go to bed..." he began slowly.

Bean's lip started to tremble and L pulled him in again.

"I'm not going anywhere, son," he said softly.  "I promise I'll still be here when you wake up."

Bean's breathing was weepy and unsteady.  "Can you stay?" he asked, his words muffled in L's shoulder. 

L pulled away and looked at him.  He nodded.  "Okay."

Exhausted from the traumatic ordeal, Bean was quiet as he got into his pajamas with the frog hood.  He climbed into bed and under the covers, then lifted swollen, blue eyes to look up at L.

"Do you love me, Papa?" he asked quietly.

And all at once, L knew that he did.  He climbed up to sit on the mattress, bringing his knees to his chest like always, and looked down at the sleepy little Bean.

"Yes," he said sincerely.  "I do, Bean.  I love you."

Bean's little mouth rounded into a tired smile, and he closed his eyes.  He snuggled up against L's legs, and within only a few minutes, he was sound asleep.

L stayed there for a long time, watching his son sleep. He delicately brushed Bean's floppy hair out of his puffy, slender eyes. He trailed his index finger gently over Bennett's much smaller fingers, long and thin like his papa's.

He never knew he could love like this.

The bedroom door quietly opened, and Watari poked his head inside.  "Is everything okay?" he asked in a low tone. 

L didn't look up.  He just nodded.

A smile twitched the old man's white mustache.  "Are you coming out now?" he whispered.  "Should I make tea?"

L just sat there, unable to look away from the small figure curled up against him with a tiny fistful of the hem of his jeans.  Carefully, he placed a hand on Bean's head of jet-black hair and moved his fingers gently back and forth. 

"Not yet," he said softly.


	9. The Birthday Bean

As summer sunshine gave way to autumn breezes, Bean settled nicely into his father's secluded little world. Life was now a routine of sorts, and things that had seemed so terrifying to L at first weren't so much anymore.

Bean, quite understandably, still cried sometimes missing his mama. L just held him and let the tears fall, wishing he could make the hurt go away; but even he knew that there was a place in the little boy's heart that would always ache for his mother. It helped to let him look at Anya's pictures. He loved pointing at Anya's belly in the photo where she was pregnant and saying "There I am!" L figured Anya must have pointed to the photo at one point or another and said "There you are!" because Bean did it every single time he saw the photo.

Watari worried about L too, and how all of this was affecting him.  He asked about it one evening as L stepped out of Bean's bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind him.  He was holding the envelope of Anya's photos in one hand.

"How are you doing, L?" Watari asked in a fatherly tone.

"He's sleeping now," L responded simply.

Watari nodded.  "Yes, but... how are _you?"_

"Oh."  L briefly looked surprised, then shrugged.  "I'm fine.  It's a lot to get used to," he answered honestly.

Watari sighed.  He was unsure how to present his next concern.  He went on, carefully choosing his words.  "I imagine this is difficult for you," he said slowly.  "If you'd ever like to talk, you know I'm here.  About Bean, or... or about her."

L looked down at the envelope in his hand and then up at Watari.  The old man stood with a sincere expression and his hands folded in front of him.

"Thank you, Watari," L said quietly.  And, saying nothing more, he moved to the desk to continue with his detective work.

Stepping up into the swivel chair, L carefully returned the envelope to the desk drawer.  He knew he couldn't keep Bennett from remembering his mother, even if it did cause a painful ache to settle deep within his chest.  In truth, it _was_ difficult for him.  Remembering her.  But his logic far outweighed his emotions, and the fact remained that the little boy that he had come to love more than anything was their son.  Bean, and therefore Anya, would now always be a part of his life.

One particular night, when L was putting Bean in bed, the small boy asked innocently, "Papa, did you know Mama?"

L stared at the child. "Bean, you know that I'm your..."

Bean just looked at him, sitting up with his hands folded on top of the comforter and his head tipped questioningly.

L sighed. "Yes, I knew her."

Bean reached out and tugged at L's white shirt sleeve, wanting him to sit down on the bed. "Will you tell me a story about her?" he asked hopefully.

L had a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach. "A story about your Mama..." he said slowly. He climbed up and sat crouched on the bed facing the headboard. He rested his hands on his knees and looked down at his small son.

Bean shimmed down under the covers and pulled them up under his arms.

"Well," L began thoughtfully. "One time, she and I were arguing over something..."

"Why were you arguing?"

L lifted bony shoulders in a shrug. "I don't remember. I only recall her being very insistent that she was right." He lifted his thumb to his teeth and looked down at the mattress before him. "She was very stubborn," he said quietly, and something like a smile played with the edges of his mouth.

"Da, she was," Bean said, nodding his pajama-hooded head up and down against the pillow. He often mixed his English with Russian.

L looked at him again. "Oh? Why do you think so?"

"She told me," Bean said simply.

"Hmmh." It was something like a chuckle, but not really. "Yes, well..." L continued the story, speaking in a plain and low tone. "I had a plate of strawberry cake in my hands, and I must have said something she didn't like because she leaned over and bit the strawberry right off the top."

Bean brought his childish hands up to his mouth and giggled gleefully.

L smiled around the thumb in his mouth. Something happened to him whenever Bean laughed. Like a piece of him deep down was getting a warm hug.

Bedtime was somewhat of a gamble with Bean. Sometimes he behaved, and other times he put up a fight. L and Watari had a long talk one evening and decided that there was no harm in letting the little boy sleep on the couch if he wanted to. It seemed as though all he wanted was to be close to his Papa. They decided to try it out and, after that, Bean went to sleep each night without a problem.

Currently, the trio was living in a large apartment just outside of London.

It was the morning of September 28th- Bean's 4th birthday- and Watari was in the kitchen making a cake. He had asked Bean what kind of birthday treat he wanted, and all the child had said was "Sprinkles!" And so, sprinkles it was-- in the batter, in the frosting, and all over the outside.

As the large grandfather clock in the living room chimed eight o'clock, L swiveled and stepped out of his computer chair. He trodded over to the couch where the small birthday boy slept soundly, wrapped in a knit throw blanket. With one hand pocketed, L bent to gently ruffle Bennett's hair.

"Hey. Time to wake up," he said, smiling a little.

Birthdays had never been a big deal to L Lawliet. Watari had always made sure to make something of the occasion for him, but it simply wasn't something that L really cared about.

That is, until today.

Bean began to stir, and a bright shade of blue flashed from beneath fluttering eyelashes. He lifted long, slender fingers to rub his sleepy eyes and yawned. Then, blinking, he sat up, and looked up at L, his jet-black bedhead flip-flopping every which way.

L crouched down and folded his arms atop the couch cushion.

"Good morning," he greeted.

Bean leaned forward and wrapped his arms around L's neck. "Hi, Papa," he said sleepily.

L returned the hug with one arm, then pulled back to look at his son. "Do you know what today is?" he asked.

Bean grinned. "My birthday!" he said brightly.

"That's right," L said, nodding.

"I'm four!" Bean enthused, tucking his thumb into his palm and holding up four long, little fingers. Then suddenly, his face scrunched as though something had occurred to him. He looked down and studied both of his hands, moving his fingers, bending and straightening them like he was forming numbers. "Papa?" his small voice asked.

"Yes, what is it?"

Bean held up four fingers the same as he had before. "Is this many..." He pulled his hand back and adjusted his fingers so that two were up on each hand, then held them out again.  "...the same as this many?"

L was impressed. "Yes, it is," he said proudly. Then he reached out and lowered one of Bean's fingers on one hand and raised one on the other, making a one and a three. "It's also the same as this many."

Bean looked back and forth from one hand to the other. Beginning with the hand holding up three fingers, he counted aloud, "One, two, three..." Then he thrust the remaining one finger outward toward L, causing him to lean back a bit. "Four!"

L chuckled.  "Go brush your teeth," he said, ruffling Bean's hair again as he stood.

Bean shimmied off the couch, bringing a hoodie string to his mouth as he did so.  "How many are you, Papa?" he asked curiously as he chewed on the drawstring.

With his hands in his jeans pockets, L looked down at the inquisitive child's upturned face.  "Twenty-two," he answered.

Bean looked down at his hands and wrinkled his little nose.  He looked back up at L.  "That's too many," he said decidedly.

"Too many to count on your fingers, yes.  Now go brush your teeth."

"How many is Watari?"

"A lot."

"But how many?"

Watari's voice came from the kitchen doorway.  "Do as your father says, Bean.  There are birthday surprises waiting for you."

At the mention of surprises, Bean scurried to do as he was told.  L sighed with slumped shoulders and Watari chuckled.  The quiet detective was still not accustomed to a small child who fired questions at him like an artillery.  But the boy simply loved to learn.

Bean's fourth birthday was a good day.  It started with his favorite breakfast- Pop Tarts- and it was spent largely at the London Zoo.  Bean stayed very close to L, either holding his hand or onto the denim fabric of his blue jeans, looking at everything and pointing childishly at anything he found interesting.

The petting zoo area was by far the highlight of the day for the small Bean.  The fuzzy duckling feathers and the soft sheep wool and the course goat hair were fascinating to his sensitive little fingers.  L stood leaning forward on the metal fence with a multicolor-swirled lollipop pinched between his fingertips and watching his sensory-keen little boy gently pet a pink-nosed lamb.

"Oh my, just look at him!" a female voice said.

L looked to his right to see a woman with a ponytail and a stroller smiling at him.  She gestured toward Bean.  "It looks like they've bonded already."

L looked back at Bean.  His navy blue hood was up, and naturally, the drawstrings were in his mouth.  One hand was pocketed in his hoodie and the other was lifted to the baby sheep's wooly neck.  He appeared to be talking to it; in Russian, from what L could hear, though he couldn't quite catch the words.

When L didn't answer, the woman spoke again.  "I'm sorry, he looks so much like you, I assumed he was yours."

L looked over at the woman again through dark-rimmed eyes.  The top of the large, flat lollipop rested against his bottom lip.  "He is," he said simply.

The woman smiled again.  "You'll want to get a picture of that," she said, and then pushed the stroller on ahead.

L blinked.  That thought had never occurred to him.  Looking around, he realized that nearly every other parent had a camera or a cell phone out, taking pictures of their children with the little farm animals.  Then, he thought of Anya and all the pictures she had taken.  He looked at Bean again and slowly reached into his pocket.  He pulled out his phone and flipped it open.  In the window of the camera app, he saw Bennett and the fluffy, white lamb.  A smile lifted one corner of L's mouth as he pressed the button, capturing the moment forever.  Then he shut the phone and returned it to his pocket.

That evening, Bean blew out four candles on a very colorful sprinkle cake.  L sat as he normally did in a chair at the table beside him, a cone-shaped party hat resting lopsided in his messy hair.  Watari also wore a hat, and Bean wore two, claiming he was the pointy-eared lynx they'd seen at the zoo earlier that day.

As the cake was being distributed, L reached down to the floor beside him and picked up a small, white box.  He held it out to Bean.

"This is for you," he said.

Bean grinned and accepted the gift.  He was sitting up on his knees in the chair.  Placing the small box on the table, he lifted the lid.  Inside was a small, red, rectangular device.  Bean gingerly took it out of the box and studied it closely.

"What is it?" his small voice asked, intrigued.

"It plays music," L said.

Bean's slender, blue eyes widened.  He held the cherry-colored iPod in both hands, turning it over carefully in his long fingers. 

"I love music," he said softly.

L nodded.  "I know you do," he said.  "And here... you'll need these."

Bean looked up and saw that L was holding out another present.  This one was in a gift bag and the handle was hooked over his Papa's upturned index finger.  Bean set the iPod down on the table and took the new present.  He reached inside and pulled out a white headset that was just the right size for him.  The cord was red, as was the padding on the earphones.

"Woahh," he breathed.

L helped him take off the packaging and showed him how to plug it in.  Then he placed the headphones on Bean's head and adjusted them over his ears under his hood.

"Now press play," L instructed.

Bean's little thumb moved to the button with the triangle and pressed it. 

L watched as a smile formed on the little boy's face.  Bean closed his eyes and sat there for a moment, holding the iPod in both of his small hands.  Then, he opened his eyes and turned on his knees to climb down from the chair.  He moved over to L, who lowered one foot to the ground and lifted Bean to sit on his lap.

Bennett rested his head against L's chest and closed his eyes again, listening to the music.  The contented smile on his face didn't leave.

"Thank you, Papa," he said sleepily.

L bent to kiss the top of Bean's head.

"Happy Birthday, son."


	10. The Countermove

_**-One Year Later-** _   
_**December 2, 2003** _   
_**Winchester, England** _

L sighed heavily as he closed out of the computer program and rose to his feet, having been crouched on the wood-planked floor.  He turned and took a few steps with downcast eyes and pocketed hands.

Something deep down was telling him that this case was different... special, somehow.  He had never seen anything like it.  Criminals all over the world suddenly and inexplicably dying of heart attacks?  Something strange was at work here, and L could sense that this was going to be the biggest and most difficult case he'd ever tackled.

He stood for a few moments more, gathering his thoughts, then lifted shadowed, sleep-deprived eyes to look around the small room.

This had been his room, growing up at Wammy's House.  There was no bed, no bookshelves, no pictures on the walls.  There was a closet lined with a few dozen plain, white shirts and a dresser containing underwear and blue jeans, but not a single sock.  The vast majority of the room was taken up by wires, monitors, computer towers, and other various tech.    It was here that he had spent most of his late childhood.

L lifted an index finger to scratch the side of his forehead, then returned his hand to his pocket.  Sighing again, he stepped over to open the door and exited the room.  His bare feet made their way down the hall and to the doorway of the large living room area where several children played with various toys and games.  A dreary rain was falling outside, and a cozy fire danced and crackled in the big stone fireplace in the corner.

Five year old Bean was sitting on his knees on the large area rug watching a yellow-haired boy of nearly fourteen put together a model rocket.

"Now I need that piece right there," the older boy said, pointing.  He wore all black, and his hair was the color of orange juice.

Bean picked up the specified piece and handed it to the teenager.  He appeared to feel quite important and pleased with himself for helping.  His dark red hood was up and his black bangs tumbled into his svelte, blue eyes.  The ends of both drawstrings were between his top teeth and bottom lip as he intently watched the new piece being attached to the colorful rocket.

Another young teen brushed past L in the doorway and moved to sit cross-legged beside Bean.  He wore a red striped shirt, and a pair of orange-lensed motorcycle goggles rested atop his head of aubern hair.

"I got the glue," he said, and he held out a small tube to the boy building the rocket.  Then he pulled a hand-held video game out of his pocket and little beeping sounds began to eminate from the buttons.

Bean sat up and shuffled over on his knees to place a hand on the redhead's shoulder.  His other hand held one of the hoodie strings up to his mouth.

"That's not Mario," he observed curiously.

"Nah, this is Megaman," the boy with the video game explained.  A toothpick protruded from between his teeth and moved jerkily back and forth as he chewed on it.

"L?"

At the sound of the old man's voice, L looked over to see Watari standing beside him.

"Oh, Watari.  I need to talk to you," he said, and they turned to stand in the hallway.

"What is it, L?" the old man asked.

"This new case..." L began slowly.  "I believe that it will require us moving to Japan for an extended period of time."

"Japan?"  Watari seemed surprised.  "Why there?"

"There is a strong possibility that this killer- 'Kira,' as they are calling him- is located in Japan."

"And it's not something you feel you can solve from here?"

L sighed.  "No.  No, this case is different, Watari.  I can feel it."  His voice was low and contemplative.

Watari nodded.  "And what about Bean?  If this Kira is as dangerous as they are saying, do you think it would it be better for him to perhaps stay here?"

L lifted a thumb to his mouth and looked into the living room.  The boy with the video game leaned in toward Bean and cupped his hand over his mouth to whisper some secret.  The five year old wrinkled his little nose and snickered.

"No, Watari," L said slowly.  "Where I go, he goes."

"But-"

L swung his head over to face Watari again.  "He's with me," he interjected firmly.  He stood in his curved posture with his arms bent at the elbows and his hands loosely in his pockets.  His grey eyes sparked with resolve from behind strands of jet-black hair.  Then, looking into the living room once more, he repeated quietly, "He stays with me."

Watari nodded slowly.  "Very well.  How would you like to proceed for now?"

L lifted his thumb to his mouth and tucked it under his top lip.  "There's an International Criminal Police Organization meeting happening in two days.  I would like you to represent me there."

"Will you be addressing the assembly?" the old man inquired.

"Yes," L answered plainly.  "I will be requesting the cooperation of the Japanese Police Force.  Then, from the meeting, I would like you to proceed with them to their headquarters.  I will continue working from here, for the time-being."  He looked into the living room again.  "But something tells me it won't be long..."  His voice trailed off as he thoughtfully gnawed on the end of his thumb.

"L?"  Watari's voice held a tone of concern.

"Hm?"  L's eyes didn't leave his small son and his "big brothers."  The black-clad, yellow-haired boy was letting Bean put stickers on the rocket.

"Is this case... worth taking?" Watari asked carefully.  "You seem to feel that it is going to be especially dangerous.  Should you perhaps consider your role as a father as taking precedence over your role as a detective?"  Watari spoke the words slowly and caringly.  He was well aware that L might snap back at him, but he felt he had to say it.

But L made no such retort.  Rather, his chest rose and then fell again in a heavy sigh.  "I will not have my son growing up in a world where Kira is justice," he said softly, returning his hand to his pocket.  Then he looked directly at Watari.  "I have an obligation to take this case... both as a detective and as a father."

Watari looked into the younger man's determined eyes, lined with the ever-present shadows of insomnia.  But behind that determination, he saw something else.  Something unusual for the legendary, brilliant L.  It was subtle, shrouded in emotionless stoicism, but it was there; a glint of fear.  Of uncertainty.  A knowledge that this case contained a darkness beyond anything the world had ever seen.  

The old man nodded slowly, beginning to understand.

"I will begin preparations immediately," he said in a dignified manner, and he turned away to do just that.

Two days later, L knelt before the computer on the floor of his room.  Quietly, he waited for Watari to connect him to the meeting via webcam.  He sat with on knee up, and his elbow rested atop it, the end of his thumb pressed to his bottom lip.  He glanced up to a back corner of the room where Bean was quietly playing with a 3,000-piece puzzle.  He was sitting on his knees, and the headphones he wore made his hood all bumpy-shaped.  One hand held a drawstring to his mouth where his little tongue moved back and forth in concentration, and the other hand carefully hovered long, little fingers over the  pile of colorful jigsaw pieces.  His cobalt eyes darted back and forth from the unfinished puzzle to the picture on the box.

"Bennett," L said, a little loudly so that the child could hear him over the music.

Bean looked up and L brought an index finger to his lips to remind the little boy that he was to remain very quiet.  Bean nodded and repeated the gesture with childish solemnness, then returned his attention to the puzzle.

A smile played with the corner of L's mouth.  He lifted his thumb to his mouth again and trailed it thoughtfully over his bottom lip.

The computer made a beeping sound, and L turned his attention to the monitor.  A video feed appeared displaying a large lecture hall filled with about a hundred men and women in business-formal attire.  Every eye in the room was looking at the screen; every ear was waiting for his synthetic voice.

L looked up at his son one more time.  A feeling of great responsibility filled his being; a sense of justice pulsed beneath his plain, white shirt.

The game had begun.

And this was his first move.

Turning back to the computer, he leaned forward and pressed a button on the mic stand before him.  He spoke clearly and steadily.

"Greetings to all of you at the ICPO.  I am L."


	11. The Vow

"Bean."

L shoved what remained of a chocolate cake doughnut into his mouth and licked his middle finger and thumb before beckoning slightly.

Obligingly, Bean unbuckled his seatbelt and slid out of the plush, leather seat of his papa's private luxury jet. He set his iPod and headphones down on the cushion and moved with quick, little steps across the aisle to the window L was sitting beside.

The detective lowered one of his bare feet to the floor and leaned forward a bit, setting one hand atop his bent-up knee and pointing out the plane window with the other. "Look down there," he directed.

Bean leaned forward to peer down through swirling, white tufts of clouds at the earth far below them. His elongated, blue eyes widened with intrigue from behind floppy, black bangs protruding from a red flannel hood. His slender fingers held a drawstring to his mouth, and he chewed on the flat, plastic end of it.

"Do you know what that is?" L asked, looking fondly at his small son.

"Japan," Bean's small voice answered, recognizing the cluster of islands from the map L had shown him.

"And in Japanese?"

"Nihon." Bean's eyes didn't leave the green strip of land surrounded by glimmering blue water as he answered with confidence, having been learning the new language over the past month.

L, with the assistance of an instructor at Wammy's House, had begun teaching him after speaking with Watari about moving to Japan, and the little boy was picking it up quickly. The rate at which he mastered new information was highly accelerated, and he was always eager to discover more about the world around him.

As for the Kira investigation, things were progressing steadily. On the day following the ICPO meeting, L had issued a broadcast that interrupted programs all over the Kanto region of Japan, although it was announced as being televised worldwide. Using a death row criminal named Lind L. Tailor as a decoy, he publicly challenged Kira as L. The experiment resulted in the immediate death of the convict, which decisively confirmed the location of the infamous serial killer.

Over the past several weeks, L had discovered several interesting details about the mysterious and powerful Kira. Not only could he kill without being present with the victim, but he could also somehow control the time of death and the way in which they died. Whoever this killer was, it was also made clear that they had access to confidential files on the case. This prompted L to send a team of twelve FBI agents to Japan to investigate the members of the Japanese police. But, soon after, these agents all fell dead of heart attacks- a tragedy that was unmistakably Kira's handiwork. L now believed beyond the shadow of a doubt that his nemesis was among the members of the Japanese police force and those closest to them.

For this reason, L was now relocating to Japan in the hopes of uncovering Kira's identity and putting an end to his warped perception of justice.

Leaving Wammy's House had been a big decision, but it seemed to be the only option, given the magnitude of this case. L had been in his room reading some files the day before leaving when a quiet knock had sounded on his door- something that occurred very rarely, as disturbing L was strictly forbidden.

"Come in," L called, without turning around from the computer on the floor.

The sound of a handle turning and hinges creaking came from behind him, but whoever it was didn't speak.

L, who was sitting with one arm draped over a bended knee, shifted to see who was in the doorway. Grey, shadowed eyes met a teal-green pair, and L spoke plainly.

"What is it, Mello?"

The boy with the black clothes and yellow hair stood with one hand on the door handle and his head tipped to the side and slightly forward. He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, his eyes never breaking contact. Then he walked with bare feet and moved to sit cross-legged on the wooden floor facing L. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands flopped between his legs. He tipped his head again and sighed.

"You're working the Kira Case, aren't you?" His eyes narrowed and challenged L to deny it.

L returned his fervent gaze with equal solemnity. "I am," he replied evenly.

Mello said nothing. He merely maintained eye contact, his slight shoulders moving evenly up and down with his breathing. At last, he dropped his gaze. He fidgeted lightly with his fingertips.

"What's wrong?" L asked the boy who had just turned fourteen.

Mello shrugged, his head tipped and his eyes on his hands.

"Are you worried?" L prodded.

The teenager sighed and lifted his head, looking off to the side. "Well... yeah." He shrugged again, his fingertips having found a string on the hem of his shirt to play with.

L brought his thumb to his mouth and trailed it along his bottom lip, his elbow resting on his bent-up knee.  He looked thoughtfully at the brilliant adolescent before him who was scowling off to the side.

"It's just..." Mello began.  He sighed and looked back down at his hands.  "How can you catch him?  I mean... he can kill whoever he wants."  The boy swallowed, an indent appearing and then disappearing at the back of his jaw.  He added softly, "Even you."

"He'd need my name first," L reminded him.

Mello nodded, his eyes fixed on his fingertips where the black thread was being rolled into a little ball.  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "Well, do you _have_ to take Bean?" he finally asked.

A corner of L's mouth twitched upward.  "You like him?"

Almost involuntarily, Mello smiled.  "Yeah, he's pretty cool," he said, trying to sound casual.

L lowered his hand from his mouth and let it hang with his forearm atop his knee.  "I do have to take him," he said plainly.

Mello nodded with downcast eyes.

L sighed.  "Mello."

The teal-green eyes lifted.

L leaned forward a little.  "I _will_ put an end to Kira," he vowed.  His eyes bore the likeness of stormclouds charged with electric currents.  His voice was steadfast, and his words were spoken with great purpose.

A spark of hope flickered within Mello as he sat eye-locked with the World's Greatest Detective and the man he looked up to more than anyone.  He swallowed again.  "Promise?"  His voice was somewhere between a child's and that of a young man.

L nodded.  "Yes.  I promise."

Mello didn't look away.  He sat leaning forward and rubbing his fingertips together with the tiny balled-up thread between them.  Slowly, the tension in his shoulders began to subside and finally, he nodded with trusting approval.  He believed L.  In fact, sitting before him now, Mello couldn't help but feel that it was Kira who should be afraid.

With a screeching jolt, the jet touched down in Tokyo, and L gazed out the window as the plane quickly slowed and began to taxi on the runway.  Bean was buckled once more in his seat and was listening to music as he peered curiously out his own window.

"Kira..." L muttered under his breath.  "I know you're here."  He curled his long fingers into a fist, and his brow lowered with resolute ferocity. 

To whatever end, L wholly intended to maintain his resolve.  But within the very depths of his being, he knew that a long and arduous road stretched out before him... and not even his brilliant mind could predict what was waiting at the end of it.


	12. The Task Force

It was approaching midnight. 

L was in one of the Tokyo hotel suite's bedrooms helping Bean get into his pajamas.

"I'm not sleepy, Papa," Bean remarked, wrinkling his small nose as L lifted the little boy's t-shirt over his head.

"I know," L said, kneeling in front of the now shirtless child in the patterned footie pajama pants.  "It's only afternoon in England."  He tossed the striped t-shirt into a corner and reached for the cotton pajama shirt on the bed.

"Because of the sun," Bean pointed out, his eyes brightening with understanding.  L had used a globe to explain Japan's time difference before they had left the United Kingdom.

"That's right," L nodded.  He held open the long-sleeve shirt, patterned to match the pants, and Bean ducked his head through the hole.

"Papa?"

"Hm?"

"I'm hungry."  Bean tilted his head as he pulled one long sleeve over his arm.

L glanced over at a clock on the wall.  Back in England, it was past lunchtime, but the Task Force would be arriving very soon.

"Alright, come on," L stood to his full height as Bean finished adjusting the shirt over his small, pale frame.  "Get your hoodie."

Bean turned toward the bed and retrieved the light yellow zip-up hoodie with brown fleece bear ears.  Pulling it on, he followed his papa to the kitchen area.

L opened the refrigerator and took out a platter of deli sandwiches.

"You'll have to eat in your room," he explained to Bean as he opened the cupboard and took out a plate.  He set it on the counter, and his index finger and thumb lifted a sandwich to place it on the ceramic dish.

"I'm not sleepy," Bean said again, holding a drawstring to his mouth.  He looked rather like a teddy bear standing there in his soft hoodie with the rounded ears.

"You can come out when you're done," L said patiently.  "But you have to be very quiet.  I'll be working, alright?"

Bean just nodded, his inky black hair flopping up and down over his eyes.

Some strawberries joined the sandwich on the plate.  L poured a glass of milk and handed it to Bean.  Then taking the plate, he headed back into the bedroom with his mini-me in tow.

Against one wall, to the left of the large bed with the plush comforter, was a wooden desk.  L set the plate atop it, and Bean lifted the glass of milk to the desk's corner.  Its contents nearly spilled over, but L's quick hand prevented disaster.  Bennett climbed up into the desk chair as L looked toward the clock again.  It was just past twelve 'clock midnight.

"I have to go," L said, looking back down at the small Bean with his hands pocketed.  "But I'll be just out in the living room."

Bean nodded, his mouth filled with a bite of the sandwich he held in both hands.

A smile rounded L's mouth, and he reached out to toussle the little boy's thick, black hair under his hood.  A tightness formed in his chest as he felt the weight of what he was about to do.

No one in the world outside of a select few individuals had ever knowingly seen L's face or heard his true voice.  But tonight, all of that would change.

As L stepped out of the bedroom, he turned in the doorframe, holding the handle.

"Bean?"

Small and slender blue eyes swiveled to meet a tired, grey pair.  Bean tipped his head as he took another bite of his turkey sandwich.  "Mm?"

"Remember what we talked about."  L's voice held a solemn tone, and his shadowed gaze was ardent.

"My real name is a secret!" Bean chirped.

L nodded.  "I mean it, Bean.  This is very important.  You cannot tell _anyone_ your real name."

Bean nodded then, his expression becoming more serious.  "I won't, Papa.  I promise."

L gave his son a long look.  Then he briefly lifted an index finger to his lips and shut the door.

Just as he did, he heard a knock.

L took a deep breath.

He stepped over to the suite's front door and flipped the lock.

"It's unlocked," he said.  "Please, let yourselves in."

He took a few steps backwards and stood with his hands in his pockets as the door opened.

Five men- all members of the Japanese Police- stood in the doorway.  Their expressions turned from solemn to shocked almost immediately.

L, feeling thoroughly uncomfortable, used his toes to scratch his ankle. 

"I am L," he said simply.

The men just stared.

L scratched the back of his head.

Finally, the man appearing to be in charge lifted his police badge.

"I am Yagami of the NPA," he said.

The other men did the same.

"Uh, Matsuda."

"I'm Aizawa."

"Mogi."

"Ukita."

L groaned inwardly.  What were these people thinking?  Didn't they know that Kira only needed a face and a name to kill?  They were being so careless!  The one who called himself Yagami was speaking, but L wasn't listening.  Instead, he lifted his index finger and thumb and pointed at the group, as if holding a gun.

"Bang!"

Naturally, the men were quite taken aback by this.  A few of them protested noisily.

L remained calm as he explained.  "If I were Kira, you'd be dead, Mr. Soichiro Yagami, chief of the NPA," he said in an annoyed tone.  "Kira needs a face and a name in order to commit murder.  But I'm sure you've already figured that much out, haven't you?  Please, do not give out your names so carelessly.  Instead, let's value our lives."

With that said, he turned toward the living room and, after instructing everyone to turn off their cell phones, he took a seat in one of the chairs, bringing his knees to his chest like always.

There was a coffee tray on the table in front of him, and L didn't say a word until his hot drink was poured and properly sugared according to his excessive standards.  Then, the meeting began.  He started by requesting that everyone call him "Ryuzaki" from now on, just to be safe.

He spoke for awhile, going over his deductions and his plan for action.  Picking up a black marker, he began writing directly on the coffee table.

Just then, one of the suite's bedroom doors opened.

The Task Force was all at once in a state of complete bewilderment as little Bean stepped out.  He clicked the door shut and turned to run with tiny steps over to L's chair.  He then proceeded to crawl underneath it, and then he just... stayed there.  He sat with his footie-pajama legs crossed, sticking his face out from under the chair and looking at everyone curiously.

The ends of both hoodie strings were in his mouth, and his hands were stuffed in his front pockets.

L barely skipped a beat and continued talking about the case and the FBI agents as though nothing were amiss... but he realized quickly that no one was listening.  He sighed.

"Alright," he said firmly. "I'll introduce you, but if we are going to be working together on this case, you cannot allow yourselves to be so easily distracted. Is that understood?"

The Task Force looked a little embarrassed, but they all agreed and some mumbled apologies.

"Everyone..."  L leaned forward with his hands on his knees to look down at the small face that was now peering up at him.  Bean's mouth formed a smile around the hoodie strings he was chewing on.

"This is my son," L said plainly.  "You can call him Bean."

If the Task Force was attempting to hide their surprise, they were not being successful.  Eyebrows raised and lips parted.  The youngest policeman, the one who had called himself Matsuda, murmured incredulously, "L has... _a son?"_   He received a sharp jab to the ribs in return from the tall and broad-chested agent Mogi.

Chief Yagami appeared a bit perplexed as to the unexpected presence of L's son.  But he met the little boy's eyes and nodded in a friendly manner.  "Hello, Bean."

Small, slender fingers left their hoodie pocket to wave childishly, then retreated back inside.

L got right back to business and continued writing on the tabletop with the permanent marker.  The meeting carried on as though nothing had happened, and Bean obediently and contentedly remained very quiet from his enclosed little spot beneath his papa's chair.  His keen eyes studied the Task Force members as his teeth and tongue rolled around the little plastic aiglets on the ends of his drawstrings.

"So," L said at last.  "Does anyone have any questions?"

"Actually, Ryuzaki," Chief Soichiro Yagami spoke up, "I do have one question for you... does the fact that you've shown us your face mean that you've lost?  By just being here, are you admitting defeat to Kira?"

All eyes turned to L.  His shadowed gaze met the chiefs, his hands resting atop his knees.

"That's right," he said softly.  'By showing my face to you now, and by sacrificing the lives of twelve FBI agents, I _have_ lost the battle."

His eyes traveled down to his son again, who was looking up at him curiously.  L's voice lowered with determination and ferocity.

"But I'm _not_ going to lose the war."  A smile rounded the peculiar detective's mouth as he lifted his gaze once more to the Task Force.  "We will show Kira that justice will prevail no matter what."

"Hey, yeah, that's right!" Mogi perked up optimistically.

"I like the sound of that!" Matsuda added with hope in his voice.

"We can do this!" the agent called Ukita cheered.

"Alright then, let's do this, Ryuzaki!"  The fifth policemen hopped on board.  His name was Aizawa, and Bean was fascinated by his puffy, round afro.  He curiously wanted to touch it.  But he remained tucked in his enclosed space beneath the chair wondering if it might feel something like the soft, wooly sheep at the petting zoo.

L stood then and dragged his bare feet over to the suite's large window, his hands loosely tucked into the pockets of his blue jeans.  Bean shimmied out from under the chair and followed him.

The Task Force talked quietly among themselves for a few moments.  It was Matsuda who once again voiced his surprise.

"I can't believe that L has a son..." he said, watching the pair by the window.  "And now that I've met him, I have to say, he doesn't strike me as the parental type."

"Maybe not," the chief said slowly.  "But he doesn't exactly strike one as the World's Greatest Detective, either.  I'll admit I had my doubts about whether it was really him at first, but there's no mistaking it.  This man is L."

"He's risking his life to be here," Aizawa pointed out.

The Task Force was quiet as they all looked toward the window.

The legendary detective L stood before them, his back turned.  One hand was pocketed, and the other rested against the side of a soft teddy bear hoodie. 

And Bean stood there beside his father, looking out over the glittering night lights of Tokyo with one small fist full of faded denim fabric.


	13. The Eyes of a Father

It was late. Darkness hung in the luxurious hotel suite, save for the dim, flickering light of three television monitors. The tape containing security footage reached its end, and the screens turned to fuzz.

"That was footage from surveillance cameras at the station." Aizawa informed in a scratchy, tired voice. "The death of one of the FBI agents is captured on here." He squeezed his eyes shut and brought the fingers of one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

L and the Task Force were viewing all footage containing the activity of the twelve FBI agents during their investigations into the families of the Japanese police force... and they had been doing so for three days straight now.

L sat knees-up on the couch as Aizawa took out the security tape and put in another one. Matsuda was going over the agents' reports, and Bean was curled up against his papa, wrapped in a blanket and sound asleep as Watari distributed cones of green tea ice cream.

It had been a few days since L had met the Task Force, and all five of them had been given falsified police badges to protect their identities from Kira. L had also provided them with ordinary-looking belts containing a feature in the buckle that would send an alert to Watari's phone should the need arise.

Bennett was his usual quiet, content self, the presence of the Task Force doing little to upset his daily life. He completed his schoolwork each morning with assistance from Watari, following the standards for homeschooling in England. His subjects included the basics- Reading and Grammar, History and Geography, Mathematics, and Science- as well as Foreign Language. Already speaking Russian and English fluently, he was now continuing to learn Japanese. In addition, as per L's instruction, part of his schooling included daily puzzles and brain teasers to challenge his brilliant little mind. The puzzles included anything from Sudoku and crosswords to tricky and intricate riddles wherein a given set of clues was used to form a deduction. This was by far Bean's favorite class, and Watari had to smile proudly at the small boy's intelligence, so reminiscent of his father's.

Bean's lunchtime was always spent chattering to his papa about what he had learned that day. That small window of L's time, as it quickly came to be understood, belonged solely to his son. The Task Force and Watari would carry on with their work, and L would take Bean down to the cafeteria of whatever hotel they were staying in at the time. L had specified that they would be switching hotels every few days, so as to keep a low profile.

And now, here they all sat, L's eyes not being the only pair rimmed in tired shadow. The only one getting any sleep at all was the tiny figure snuggled up at the detective's side, blissfully undisturbed by the low-spoken voices around him.

But it was then, at long last, that L noticed something potentially relevant in the security footage. An FBI agent by the name of Raye Penber was seen carrying a large envelope onto the train but then exiting ninety minutes later without it, dying of a sudden heart attack on the platform. L pointed out that, just before Penber died, he appeared to be straining to look at something or someone inside the train as the doors slid shut.

"If that's the case, do you think it could mean something?" Chief Yagami queried.

"Wouldn't it be interesting," L queried pensively, "if Kira was on that train?"

The notion seemed quite improbable... but it was the only lead they had. Upon further investigation, it was discovered that Raye Penber's fiancée, a Japanese woman and a former FBI agent by the name of Naomi Misora, had mysteriously disappeared only days earlier. This was enough evidence to prompt L to focus the investigation on only those people Raye Penber had been tailing: Deputy Director Kitamura along with Detective Superintendent Yagami and their families.

This was not well received by the loyal members of the Task Force, but it was nonetheless agreed that cameras and wiretaps would be placed in each of the two Japanese homes.

It took some time to set up the equipment, but a few days later, L's monitors came alive with video feeds of both households.  Both the Kitamura and Yagami families went about their days, unaware of the invasive surveillance they were under.  And as L studied and watched and pondered, he was drawn to one individual in particular. 

Light Yagami, the Chief's eighteen-year-old son and eldest of two children, was a brilliant young man and more than capable of being the clever, cunning, evasive Kira.  He was popular among his peers, and his cumulative high school grades were among the highest in all of Japan.  He participated in sports, spent his free time studying in his room, and was preparing to take the entrance exams for admittance into Toho University.  He seemed to be entirely above suspicion, but... wasn't it likely that Kira would appear that way?

L and the Task Force were now two days into surveillance.  Aizawa, Mogi, and Ukita sat on one side of the suite watching feed of the Kitamura household, and L and the Chief sat on the other side observing the Yagamis.  Bean was playing quietly in a corner of the room nearest L.

"Wow, you're good at that!"  The young and bright-eyed agent Matsuda stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at the small child, who was busy building a structure out of Legos. The colors were particularly arranged in a pattern- red, yellow, green, blue, white- and repeating in that order.

Bean's lithe, blue eyes looked up with a tilted head as his fingers pressed two of the bumpy, plastic blocks together. "It's not hard," his small voice said simply around the hoodie string dangling from his mouth.

"Yeah?" Matsuda knelt down and then shifted to sit cross-legged as he adjusted his tie. "Can I help?"  He leaned forward a bit, his arms draping over his knees.

Bean nodded, his soft, inky hair flopping up and down from underneath his light blue cotton hood. "It needs a red one now," he informed with the utmost importance.

Matsuda noisily fished his hand into the container of Legos, straining a bit to see inside. He pulled out a red block and held it out to the little boy, relaxing back into his casual, cross-legged stance.

"Spasibo," Bean thanked him in Russian, plucking up the piece with his long and slender fingers. He clicked it into place, then turned to reach for another one. But he stopped, his fingers readily in air, to see that Matsuda was already holding out a yellow Lego on his open palm. Svelte, cobalt eyes looked up at the young Japanese police officer, who offered him a cheery smile with raised eyebrows. Bean paused shyly for a moment. Then he smiled back childishly, tucking his bottom lip under the aiglet in his pearly white baby teeth as he took the brightly-colored block from Matsuda's hand.

Nearby, L sat with both hands on his knees, his dark-rimmed gaze intent on the video monitor before him.  Light had just arrived home from school.  As the Chief and the detective watched him, it appeared as though he took daily precautions to ensure no one entered his room while he was out.

"I don't believe it," Chief Yagami murmured incredulously as he watched live footage of Light carefully placing a slip of paper in the door as he left his room after having deposited his school supplies inside. "I never knew he went to such great lengths... What could he be hiding in there that he doesn't want anyone else to see?"

"For a seventeen year-old kid, I wouldn't say this kind of behavior is particularly abnormal," L assured him.  "When I was his age, I did strange things too... Have you ever talked to your son about the investigation?"

"Of course not!" Yagami replied defensively.  "I've never once revealed classified information to my family!  Besides..."  He hung his head, bringing his fingertips to his temple.  "I don't get to see them too often these days.  Usually, as soon as I get home, all I can do is sleep."

"I understand..." L mumbled quietly, turning his attention back to the video feed.  "However..." he sighed, "His behavior seems too contrived, too... perfect."

"Hey!"  The Chief quickly turned an offended gaze toward the detective.  "That's my  _son_  you're talking about!  Are you honestly telling me that you suspect him?!"

"I  _do_  suspect him," L answered curtly, bringing a thumbnail to his teeth.  "That's why I placed wiretaps and surveillance cameras in your house and the Deputy Director's house."

A tense silence hung in the air between them.  L's shadowed gaze remained fixed upon the screen as the Chief looked away with a heavy heart.  After a moment, he spoke again.

"Ryuzaki."  His voice was tight, his body stiff.  He shut his eyes and lowered his head, his hands resting on his thighs.

"Yes?" L didn't look away from the monitor.

"I'm trying to see this from your perspective," Soichiro went on, speaking in a low tone.  "Of all the people we've investigated so far, not one of them seemed the least bit suspicious, and I understand that you have to be thorough.  But please try to see this from where I stand... as a father."  He looked at L directly.  "I mean... What if this was  _your_  son?"

Wide, grey eyes turned to meet the Chief's.  Then L's gaze lowered a bit as he deeply pondered the honest inquiry.

 _"Yes..."_  L wondered.  " _What if it was my son who was suspected of being this terrible Kira?"_

The notion alone was enough to form a knot in L's stomach.  He turned his head to look at Bean, who was sitting up on his knees and peering into the container of Legos as Mastuda rummaged around inside it.

"Ah ha!" the boyish agent cheered as he held up a green Lego.  Bean's little expression beamed as he reached out for the brightly-colored block.

The knot in L's stomach only tightened as he looked at his little boy and sincerely contemplated the Chief's current position as the father of a Kira suspect.  The detective swallowed dryly as he turned back to meet the eyes of Soichiro Yagami.

"It would feel terrible," he admitted softly.

Chief Yagami's face relaxed a bit as he looked back at L.  He nodded slowly.

"However..." L went on, looking back toward the monitors.  "If it  _were_  my son, and not yours, would you not continue to uphold your duties as a police officer?  Would you not strive to remain objective for the sake of the case and the fate of the world at large?"

Soichiro stiffened again, then looked down at his hands.  His chest rose and then lowered in a weighted sigh.  

"I would," he conceded.

And neither said anything more for a long time.


	14. The Space Between

"I don't want to do it!" Aizawa hissed in a tense whisper. "You do it!"

"No way!" Matsuda whispered back, his hand moving outward in a sweeping motion as he shook his head.

The two agents stared stubbornly at one another, then turned their gaze to Ukita.

"Don't look at me!" Ukita whispered in a panic, putting both hands up defensively.

"Noses!" Matsuda quickly brought his finger to his nose.

"What??" Aizawa scowled at the younger agent with a great deal of impatience.

"Noses!" Mastuda repeated in a forceful whisper. "Whoever touches their nose last has to do it!"

Instantly and simultaneously, Aizawa and Ukita brought their index fingers to the tips of their noses. The three just stood, looking among one another... Then slowly, they all turned to Agent Mogi, who was reading a report.

Mogi looked up.

"...what?" he asked obliviously.

"You have to do it!" Matsuda declared in a hushed tone, pointing at the burly man.

"Do what?" Mogi asked rather loudly.

"Shh!" the other three agents shushed him.

Aizawa pointed to the other side of the room.

" _You_ have to wake up Ryuzaki!"

"WHAT??"

"SHHH!!"

Mogi looked with wide eyes over to where L was slumped in his computer chair. One knee was bent up as usual, but the other foot was on the floor. Bean was curled up on his papa's lap and sound asleep against his chest, and L's hand rested on his son's back as his raven-haired head lay flopped at an odd angle. His shadowed eyes were closed, and the little Bean moved ever so slightly up and down with L's breathing.

Mogi gulped.

"W-why do I have to do it?" he asked, whispering now.

The other three agents all dramatically gestured to the fingers that still rested on their noses.

Mogi opened his mouth to protest but then sighed in defeat. He stood to his feet and moved quietly over toward the sleeping detective. Partway there, he glanced back at his comrades. They all prodded him on with silent forward hand gestures. Mogi groaned as he turned back around and continued until he stood at L's side. He gulped again. Then, slowly, he reached out and tapped the detective's shoulder.

"Uh... R-Ryuzaki?" he spoke in a low tone.

"Yes?" L responded at normal volume.

Mogi jumped.

"What is it?" L turned opened his wide, grey eyes and turned his head to look up at the brawny agent.

Bean just slept on, undisturbed.

The other three agents approached cautiously.

"You... you were awake?" Matsuda asked incredulously.

"Yes." L tipped his head to look down at his son, then back up to the Task Force. "For the last several minutes, at least. I find that I can learn quite a lot when people think I am sleeping."

The four agents were a bit taken aback. They all looked at one another dumbly.

"Well?" L asked, getting annoyed now. "What is it?"

Instinctively, four pairs of eyes moved to the sleeping little boy at the sound of L's slightly raised tone. But Bean's eyes stayed closed, his lips slightly parted and his sleep uninterrupted. One small hand held a fistful of white, cotton fabric.

"Uh..." Aizawa began. "...the entrance exams at Toho begin in about thirty minutes."

L glanced up at the wall clock. Light Yagami would be participating in the examination, and it had been decided that L would as well, as a means of meeting the young suspect face-to-face.

"Right. Thank you." L turned his head so that his mouth was pressed gently against the top of Bean's hooded head. "Hey..." he said softly, patting his son's back. "We have to go now."

"Ryuzaki," Matsuda spoke up gently. "Uh... he could stay here! You know, if you wanted to let him sleep-"

L shot the young agent a look that shut his mouth immediately.

"Right..." Matsuda mumbled, lifting his shoulders and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "...s-sorry."

"Hey." L jostled Bean a little more, and the boy began to stir. His sleepy little eyes fluttered open, and he lifted long, slender fingers to rub them as he yawned.

"Hi, Papa..."

"Hi, Bean. Go brush your teeth," L told him.

Bean nodded and complied, but not before wrapping his arms around L's neck for a good morning hug.

* * *

 

"Watari?" Bennett's small voice bounced a little bit with his steps, his gaze on his feet.

"Hm?" The old Englishman looked down at the small, hooded figure that held his hand. The two were sharing an outing in Tokyo while the Toho entrance exams were going on.

"Um..." The little boy's black bangs tumbled over his slim, cobalt eyes as he hopped to avoid stepping on a crack in the sidewalk, and he lifted spidery, little fingers to brush them aside. "...are you Papa's papa?"

The old man's white mustache twitched in amusement. "No," he replied gently. "Your papa never knew his parents."

"Oh." 

_H_ _op_

"Then... who did he live with before you?"  Bennett's little face perked up at the sound of a street musician up ahead.

"Well..." Watari cleared his throat. "He lived in foster care, and then he came to live with me at Wammy's House. Remember, you were in foster care for a few weeks before coming to live with Papa and me?"

Bennett's slender eyes looked down again. He nodded, some of his messy, black hair falling forward from under his cherry red hood.  He didn't like remembering those days. Not that his foster family hadn't been kind to him- quite the contrary. They had been a very nice couple with a warm and welcoming home.  But, they had been naively uneducated on children with autism, and some of Bennett's quirky and withdrawn behaviors had been sadly misinterpreted as him simply being a difficult and stubborn child.  In addition, there had been three other foster kids in the house at the same time, and in short, the small Bean had never been so wrought with anxiety or insecurity.  Even now, his left hand ticked a little inside his hoodie pocket at the memory of the dark days following that grey and rainy morning when everything had changed.

Had his papa maybe felt scared too, living with strangers who didn't fully understand him?  Had he shrunk back in panic attacks with his back pressed into a corner, crying uncontrollably while he covered his ears and pulled at his hair?  Had he, too, been discovered on more than one morning wrapped tightly in a blanket on the floor underneath his bed?

Bennett's gaze remained downcast as he wondered these things.  He winced at the sharp little spasm in his left hand, and he made a tight fist inside his hoodie pocket before loosening his fingers and shaking them a bit.

"Watari?"

"Hm?"

Bennett tilted his head up to look at the tall, white-haired man in the suit and trench coat beside him. His small hand tightened its hold on Watari's.

"I'm glad you took care of Papa," he said simply.  "That was a really good thing."

The old man stopped walking, Bean with him. The two stood on the city sidewalk, holding hands and looking at one another, each with their other hand pocketed. Bean's mouth rounded into a little smile, a look of grateful understanding far beyond his years glinting in his bright blue eyes.

Watari felt a softness settle in his heart as his own eyes creased into a warm and devoted smile. He let go of Bean's hand, and the five-year-old moved in to wrap his long, little arms around the old man's legs. Watari's snowy mustache twitched fondly as he returned the hug, and his hand patted the back of the soft, red hoodie.

And then Bean let go again, perking once more at some stringed melody coming from the curb up ahead.  He tugged childishly on Watari's sleeve with an eager grin and pulled him onward, not forgetting to diligently hop over the break in the sidewalk.


	15. The Beginning of the End

In the weeks following the Toho entrance exams, criminals all over the world continued to die of sudden, inexplicable heart attacks, but L and the Task Force made no substantial progress with the case.  Nonetheless, there still existed a singular suspect, and the renowned detective intended to follow up on his hunch until not even the remotest possibility that Light Yagami could be Kira remained.  So, as the cherry trees blossomed along the streets of Tokyo like pink cotton candy, L prepared to attend the Toho Freshman Orientation, where both he and Light would be recognized for having earned perfect scores on the examination.

For this event, L had taken the alias 'Hideki Ryuga,' which was also the name of a Japanese pop star.  In doing this, he prevented Kira from making an attempt on his life, given that the beloved idol Ryuga may accidentally be killed.

The spacious auditorium was filled with ambitious young people and their families, all smartly dressed and well-groomed... and among them was a disheveled, sleep-deprived mess of a man in wrinkled clothing and old, battered sneakers with no socks.  Following some formalities, the two freshmen representatives were announced, and both L and Light stood amid applause mixed with incredulous murmurs.  The two young men approaching the stage could not possibly be more different.

Light gave his speech first.  He was well-versed and charismatic, and he certainly looked the part of a young person well-acquainted with success and privilege.

L waited beside him, a folded piece of paper held by a corner at his side.  His other hand was unceremoniously tucked in his pocket.

Moments later, the crowd applauded again, and Light Yagami bowed before stepping away from the microphone.  He glanced at his fellow representative, but L's eyes remained fixed ahead as he moved to take the place at the podium.  He unfolded the sheet of paper and held it up before him, the top two corners pinched delicately in his fingertips.

Earlier that morning, L had obtained this very document shortly after Agent Matsuda had voiced a concern in the form of a question...

"Ryuzaki..."  Matsuda addressed the detective warily.  "...you do realize you will have to give a speech, right?"

"Mister Matsuda," L replied coolly, swiveling in his computer chair with a teacup and saucer in hand.  "I always do my research thoroughly.  I assure you, I am well prepared."  He held the handle of the delicate china cup with only his thumb and first finger.

Matsuda nodded.  "...right.  O-of course!"  He lifted his shoulders, feeling stupid.

L glanced at the clock, then tipped his head back to finish off the tea-saturated sugar.  He set the dishes on the desk before stepping out of the chair and shuffling over to the sitting area, hands pocketed.  He stopped before a plushy armchair and crouched down before it.

"Is it ready?" L asked very seriously.

A small hand holding a sheet of paper thrust out from under the chair.

L took the paper as a pair of bright eyes watched him from behind pitch black bangs.  The small Bean was lying on his stomach, several sheets of paper and a box of crayons surrounding him.  His bent legs alternatingly bobbed up and down, and a drawstring dangled loosely from one side of his mouth. 

L put a thumb to his lip as he studied the paper.  Slowly, he nodded.  "This is just what I needed," he said, all businesslike.  "Thank you, Bean."  He reached out and tousled the boy's hair before standing again to his bare feet.  "You see, Mr. Matsuda?"  L displayed the sheet of paper between his thumb and index finger.  "I have everything I need."

Matsuda slowly took the paper, his brow furrowing.  On it was what appeared to be a scribbly drawing of L giving a speech to a crowd of smiling people.  The stick figure at the podium held a sheet of paper with a red A+++ on it.  Matsuda looked up at L.  "...but..."

L plucked the drawing out of the young agent's hands, and Matsuda promptly shut his mouth.

And L gave his speech at Toho that day with his son's drawing in hand.  It was unnecessary and ridiculous, but it amused him, and so he held it up before him and pretended to read from it.  The words that came out of his mouth were ad-libbed and less than half-hearted, but what was going on in his brilliant mind was anything but.

_"Light Yagami... The likelihood that you are Kira is just under five percent.  Even so... something tells me I'm not wrong to suspect you.  But you're just too perfect..."_

As he delivered his speech, his tone remained plain, his expression bland.  But a spark was flickering inside of him that was only the beginning of an all-consuming flame.  Had he known what his actions this day would bring, he may have done things differently... had he known what lay at the end of this road, he may not have chosen to take it at all.  But as he concluded his improvosed oration, and he and Light took their seats amid the applause, L carried out his decision.

"Light?  Light Yagami?"  L addressed the younger man in a low tone.  "Your father is Chief Soichiro Yagami of the NPA?  Your respect for your father is matched only by your strong sense of justice..."

Was this a mistake?  Maybe.

Was it a risk?  Without question.

But this case... this Kira... there was something about all of it that infuriated L to his very core.  It ignited the very passion that drove all that he was.

HE was justice, and _how dar_ e this arrogant, juvenile murderer with an apparent god complex claim to be so?

Nonetheless, despite this inner flame, L continued in his somber and monotonous inflection.

"You are planning to join the police agency when you graduate, and you've already got experience, seeing as you've helped the police solve a number of cases in the past.  Now, you're showing an interest in the Kira Case.  I'm impressed by your abilities and your sense of justice.  If you promise not to tell anyone about this, I have important information concerning the Kira investigation that I'd like to share with you..."

His demeanor was hardly indicative of the ferocity inside him that was already bordering on the obsessive.  But he was childish and he hated to lose, and it had been a long time since he had been met with such an opponent, so matched with his cleverness and so worthy of his time.  It was true that Kira deserved judgement, and it was true that L was determined to raise his son in a world wherein true justice prevailed.  But true as well, and perhaps even moreso, was the indisputable fact that L Lawliet loved the game.  He thrived on it.  And he would do whatever it took to win. 

Monumental stakes aside, this was a means to an end.

Light Yagami glanced at him sideways.  "I won't tell anyone," he answered coolly.  "What is it?"

L's heart was pounding.  The thrill of this moment was intoxicating.  He looked at Light and whispered the words that would change everything.

"I want to tell you, **_I'm L_**."


End file.
